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Emilee

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My front facing camera broke on my phone, making my already limited picture taking even MORE limited. Have a throw back from last spring. I have a blog post in the works. Life has been kinda nutty, my laptop *also* bit the dirt, and things have been kind of overwhelming. Y’all are always on my mind, though! You’ll be hearing from me soon. 💕
Classes yesterday brought to you in part by @leakycon (I don’t usually dress up for costume week, but i do try and incorporate Harry Potter to some degree 🤷🏼‍♀️)
New blog post, link in bio!
My friend Bailey and her company @companythreesixty made this and I have no more words to add. It’s perfect. #Repost @catchingbreaths with @get_repost ・・・ Why didn’t I report? I didn’t report because I thought that if I’m in a relationship with someone, it meant it was equally my fault. I thought the years of unhealthy feelings towards myself which ensued, were still invalid since it could have been worse. I thought I shouldn’t tell my Momma until a couple of years later on a beautiful mountain walk together, and even then, I softened the story from shame for how I’d appear to the person I love the most. I didn’t report because we live in a world where men use sentences like “it can always be worse” as psychological shrapnel. A world that tells us we should have done more to stop it. A world that, even when I remember the attempts to push away as clearly as consciousness cinema, I was scared to push too hard because I didn’t want to make someone mad. A world that makes me worry at sharing, because I have young students and ‘should be a role-model’: with a role model being pure, respectable, elite, undamaged. Now, a mother, wife, champion, boss... I still worry to report as innocuously as through a #WhyIDidntReport hashtag, lest I somehow appear less for having shared. But as someone who’s survived a darkness far worse than that described, and Shawshanked her way to a life of light- save for second glances over shoulders- I can say that the hardest person to report to is actually... yourself. It’s the you that you had once hoped to be. The you that you’ll never be again. The you that you wish you could go back and protect. The you you wish you had been (louder, less in shock, less weak). The you that once was but was taken. To all the Yous you once were reading this (and the You in me who still feels cemented by shame)... this should never have happened. It doesn’t matter how loud, quiet, forceful... how well you knew them.... You didn’t deserve to lose You because your body wasn’t left as yours. None of us do. None of us ever will. There is no good way to end this bit of writing, because the truth is: it hasn’t ended. A perfect sentence will not wrap this up. Y
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Teaching on my birthday is my favorite thing. Hi, I’m 30, and I gave full sized cupcakes to three year olds and I’m sure their parents hate me

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Dear 20-something year old new girl in ballet class

Dear 20 – something year old new girl in ballet class,
I know you probably feel overwhelmed by everyone around you,
Seeing the perfectly sculpted bodies executing moves with seemingly flawless technique as you stand there struggling the follow the person in front of you and keep your head above water.
But I want you to know something;
We’re so glad you’re here.
Those other bodies you see at the barre are only watching you because they are nervous and don’t know what move comes next in the combo, and are hoping you do so you can help keep you both above water. When it feels like they’re criticizing your every move, they’re actually either zoning out to try and retain the combo across the floor, or their learning from you.
That’s right, you’re already a teacher and it’s your first class.
Don’t let your head get to you. You’re doing better than you think.
So even though I’m watching you bang your head against your steering wheel while you go over every fault you remember from the last hour, assuming no one is noticing as you sit in the safety of your car, I’m not sitting in mine judging you. I’m looking at a reflection of myself from not too long ago. I was the girl that broke down in the corner because I should be better. I was the girl that sat in her car before driving off because I knew I couldn’t drive with so many tears in my eyes. So as I watch you do the same, I wish I could go over and hug you and some how transport what I see in you into your brain.
How you stuck out to me as I peaked into the class you were in.
Not because of your flaws—we all have them— but because of something wonderful you possess that not all ballet dancers do;
Passion.
You want this so badly, there’s no denying it. You have so much heart when you dance that I can’t not watch you. That is what will make you a great dancer; not technique or build, or talent. I’ve seen people will all three of those that were so boring. There was no life to their movement.
You are full of life.
It drips from your every fiber.
And that is why I chose to back up instead of saying something. To give you your moment to process.
I know you’ll be back.
Theres something in you crazy enough to fight for what you want.
For now, I’ll just hope you don’t beat yourself up too badly, and that one day you’ll be able to look back and see how every step has a lesson and is worth taking. That every move helps shape you into the person you’re destined to be. That this dream will make you feel more alive than you ever thought possible.
And I’ll keep pulling for you.
You’ll be back
And I look forward to seeing you grow.
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